


Two stars

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Prompt Fic, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was possibly the worst hotel they have ever stayed at.</p><p>A tentacle fic. Based off a prompt in the CP kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two stars

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually quite embarrassed by this. Be gentle.

Sometimes Martin wondered how hotels like this could stay open. There were plenty of hotels that had faded wall paper or furniture reeking of cigar smoke, but this was pushing it.

  
The bathroom mirror was cracked. There was a burn mark on the carpet the size of a plate. The porcelian sink was stained yellow. There was a permanant black ring around the toilet. "And worst of all," Douglas hissed, throwing down the remote in disgust. "The tv only gets two channels!"  
  
Martin threw him a look, then went back inspecting the sheets on his own bed. At least they looked clean, if a little old. Satisfied they weren't covered in fleas (like his last hotel bed had) Martin flopped down with a sigh.  
  
"That's it!" Douglas declared suddenly. "I'm going to find a pub and drink until this room looks like the Hilton."  
  
Martin mumbled tiredly, "You don't drink."  
  
"Better than staying here and staring at this God awful wallpaper. You coming?"  
  
"Nah, I'm tired," Martin emphasized with a yawn. "I think I'll just read a little bit, then go to bed."  
  
"Your loss. Don't wait up."  
  
Martin really did mean to read a little bit. Between working for MJN and his van jobs, he'd barely had enough time to enjoy any of the books he owned. He'd yet to finish the last Harry Potter book and it was torture tyring to avoid Arthur when the younger man kept sprouting chapters off-handly.  
  
So when Martin unexpectedly woke up at 2:30 in the morning, he groaned. He double-checked the second bed, saw Douglas had yet to come back.   
  
Martin huffed, turning over to get into a better position. As long as his First Officer didn't come back with two girls with him (like last time. That was one night Martin wished to forget) Martin didn't care how long Douglas stayed out.  
  
He stretched out his legs, searching for his warm spot. He retracted them immediately when his feet brushed against something cold and wet.

The hell...?  
  
Martin looked down, unable to see anything in the darkness. He stretched out his legs again, unsure if what he felt was of his own imagination.  
  
The tip of his toes touched the cold, wet thing.  
  
For pity sakes, Martin grimaced. Did Douglas leave a wet towel in his bed? He kicked out his legs, knocking against the towel, hopefully to the floor. Martin flipped over again, wanting to escape the wet spot he knew was there.  
  
His feet came into contact with another wet thing.  
  
Oh, come ON! Martin reached over to the night stand, switched on the lamp, filling the room with somewhat sufficient light. He threw back the covers, thinking about shoving these wet towels into Douglas' stachel. See how he likes it.  
  
They weren't towels.  
  
At least, they didn't look like the towels in the bathroom. Two seperate purple, blue things draped across the corners of the bed. Like sleeves of an ugly shirt tossed haphazardly. They were wet, all right. Martin could see them staining the sheets.  
  
Then one of them moved.  
  
The purple sleeve on the left curled, suddenly snaking upwards towards Martin's foot.  
  
The captain cried out in alarm, scrambling back to avoid it. He had forgotten about the one on the right, a mistake he realzed when it grabbed him by the ankle, pulling him down.  
  
"NO!" Martin yelled as the second sleeve-thing grabbed his other ankle, helping with the pulling.  
  
Martin reached up to grab at the lamp, thinking to use it as a weapon. Instead, he felt something wrap around his wrist. He jerked back, but the damn thing held tight.

With his free hand, Martin tried to dig his fingernails into the... tentacle? The surface certainly felt smooth. There was a strange, oily substance on it, cold and slippery, making it impossible to hold.  
  
Finally, a fourth tentacle grabbed Martin's free wrist, wrapping around it thrice, pulling taunt. He was pulled eagle spread on his bed, with only enough give to bend his limbs just the slightest.  
  
"Help!" Martin yelled towards the door. He was cut off as another tentacle suddenly slid into his mouth. "He-umph!" He tried bitting down, and like his fingernails, it did nothing. The tentalce squirmed happily inside of his mouth, the tip brushing against the roof of his mouth, playing with his tongue.  
  
He could taste the slimy substance on its skin. Like vanilla ice cream.  
  
Moving his head side to side did nothing to dispel it from his mouth. He didn't even know where these things were coming from, what they were attached to. They just rose from underneath the bed, and more kept coming.  
  
Oh God, Martin began crying. They were going to eat him.  
  
There were at least a dozen of them, all different sizes, snaking their way onto the bed. Martin arched his back, desperate to avoid them. Like a collective hand, the tentalces reached up, folded over his torso and pushed down.  
  
Martin flopped back down on the bed, huffing. The thing in his mouth didn't exactly obscure his breathing, but it didn't make it easy. It cretainly muffled the embarassing squeal he made when his shirt was torn opened.  
  
Two smaller tentacles roamed his exposed torso, flopping this way and that, spreading that vanilla-tasting slime over his chest. One tentacle accidentally brushed against his nipple, and it jerked away like a scared animal.  
  
Slowly, the tentacle creeped back, curiously flickering over the nipple, once, twice, three times. Martin whimpered at the cold sensation.  
  
The tendril seemed to have liked the noise, because it kept circling the nub, pulling at it.  
  
The second tentacle eventually found his other nipple, but this one preffered to use its tip to tickle the areola. Martin tried to squirm out of the way, but the tendrils followed him regardless.

The tendril in his mouth slowly slid further back, reaching past the point of being comfortable. For a split second, Martin thought the thing was going to try to suffocate him and immediately he began gagging. The tentacle reached the back of his throat- Martin was now well red in the face- and ejaculated.  
  
There was no other word to describe it. He felt the thing squirt that cold vanilla substance twice, triggering his swallowing reflex. He had to swallow four times in rapid succession to keep himself from choking. Once he was done, the tentacle pulled out of his mouth, leaving him to gasp and cough. What just happened?  
  
Immediately he felt drugged, sluggish, his head too heavy to move. He wondered if the tendril did it to force him into unconsciousness.  
  
The sensation of his nipples being teased grew. Martin bit his lip to keep himself from gasping as each flick, as each caress was a sharp bite of pleasure dancing across his skin.  
  
He looked towards the door. "Help," he said quietly. It was if he was unable to yell anymore. "Help, someone."  
  
He felt his pajama bottoms being pulled down, followed by his underwear. His cock was only half-hard, the tip of the head barely poking out of the foreskin. Martin had an idea of what was going to come next and was afraid of it.  
  
For a few seconds, no other tentacles came near him. From the edge of the bed, so hidden by shadow Martin coud barely make it out, one fat tendril slowly rose from underneath.  
  
It was unlike the other tentacles that thinned out, ending at a soft point. This tentacle was fleshy, thick, the end pulsating as a string of clear liquid oozed out of its mouth.  
  
Mouth. Oh God, was this thing really going to eat him?  
  
The end stretched opened and dozens of little tentacles, most of them the size of string, slithered out. That liquid slime was now dropping upon Martin's thighs, making him flinch. "No," he said, desperate to get away. The ones wrapped around his arms and legs refused to budge. "No!"  
  
The fat tendril positioned itself over Martin's prick. The tiny string-like tentacles moved downwards, grasped the sides of his foreskin and pulled down.  
  
That wretched a startled gasp out of Martin. "Fuck, fuck!"  
  
Once that was done, the other tentacles went to work. They focused their attentions on the sensitive area just below the head, slid back and forth across the slit his penis, cradled his balls and stroked the areas where the veins were the most prominent.   
  
His dick was now fully erect, turning into a pretty shade of red. Martin couldn't coordinate his mouth to call for help, not when every touch was making him beg and gasp and moan.  
  
He was going to come. He could feel his orgasm slowly building- too slowly, the touches were not firm enough- and Martin wondered if they would leave him alone once he came. That seemed to be their goal.  
  
His hips jerked to help the process along, as little begging noises spewed out of his mouth. It was going to happen, he was going to come, right now, right now, right now-  
  
The tentacles, all of them except the ones restraining him, suddenly pulled back.

They didn't leave, but merely hovered a few inches above his flesh, waiting.

  
Waiting for WHAT, Martin gritted his teeth in frustration. His dick was twitching, begging to be stroked to completion and getting nothing. All he needed was a touch, one fucking touch...  
  
One of the tentacles that had been teasing his nipple, pressed itself against the pulse point of his neck. He wondered if it was checking for his heartrate. The tendril then slithered down his throat, across his collar bone, flicking a nipple as it passed by, over his stomach, bypassing his dick entirely and disappeared from view beneath his legs.  
  
What was-?  
  
Martin tensed when he felt it touch his hole.  
  
Instinctively he clenched. It was a useless effort as the tentacle's tip pushed in, fighting against the muscles trying to push it back out. It got in about an inch, then ubruptly pulled out, moving upwards to join the other tentacles that were waiting.  
  
Martin thought he won.  
  
The fat-mouthed tentacle opened wide and the smaller tendril slid inside, coating itself in that odd slime. It pulled out, glistening and dripping with the stuff, and moved back to Martin's hole.  
  
Oh, _fuck him_ , it was just getting _lube_.   
  
This time, the tentacle went inside him with ease. The stretch was immensely uncomfortable and tears formed at the edge of his eyes from it. It felt like it went on forever, this slow burning sensation that refused to end. The other tentacle went back to teasing his nipple, as if that would help make up for it, but it was an ignorable move.  
  
The tendril inside of him twisted, curled, pressing up. In that position, it moved downwards, slowly, methodically, as if it were looking for something-  
  
"Oh god, oh FUCK!"  
  
Martin's whole body jerked violently, followed by arching his back with a wordless cry. He sagged, totally unprepared for that.  
  
It was like a fucking button inside of him had been pressed.  
  
The tentacle pushed again, this time with a gentler touch, stroking that sweet spot with intent.  
  
Martin writhed on the bed, his restraints flagging a bit to give him the movement to do so. He has never felt like this before, never in his whole life and it was good, so so good...  
  
The tiny tendrils went back to their work, grasping his balls and wrapping themselves around his prick. Martin's mind seemed to be blank at this point, too far in his own pleasure to notice the tiniest of tentacles was pushing against his urethra.   
  
He almost didn't notice. Almost.  
  
He couldn't voice a protest, just a shake of his head. The tendril pushed inside, deep, deep, deeper, pulled back, then pushed back in. Martin's eyes were squinted shut at this point, unable to process that somehow, this thing found a way to fuck him in two different ways.  
  
He didn't even notice he was no longer restrained. His hands were gripping his pillow like it was his only lifeline.  
  
He never saw the mouth-tentacle decend upon him, swallowing him down. Not until it started sucking. He cried out.  
  
"Please, please, please, oh-oh-oh..."  
  
Inside, the other string tendrils were still moving, still stroking in unison with the sucking. Martin couldn't think, couldn't see, didn't care he was raving and begging and gasping. Everything was just this and he thought he might go mad.  
  
When his orgasm finally came, it was like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. White exploded in the front of his eyes and he swore his spine was melting. If he thought the sucking and fucking was bad, his orgasm seemed to last an eternity.  
  
La petite mort, indeed.  
  
Martin was just enough of mind to sense the tentacles pulling out of him. The mouth one slid off with a slurp and the nipple one gave him one last flick before it darted back underneath the bed.  
  
They all disappeared from sight, leaving him boneless against the bed, unable to move from sheer exhaustion.

Martin didn't want to move. He was too tired, it would be so easy to drop off into sleep right then and there.

  
He knew he had to get up. He felt filthy. His whole body was covered nearly from head to toe in that slime and frankly, it felt gross. He could even feel it drip out of his anus.   
  
He also needed to change clothes, his were ruined. The sheets of the bed were soaked through, and possibly the mattress itself was irredeemable.  
  
And lastly, most importantly, Douglas would be back at any minute. Did Martin really want his first officer to see him like this, lying in a wet bed, his trousers tangled among his legs with his prick hanging out?  
  
Slowly, achingly, Martin rose. A good deal of his muscles cramped in response, especially his legs. Once he was in a sitting position, it took even longer for him to stand. The sensation of that slime dripping down his body made him shiver.  
  
With a bit of a limp, Martin made his way to the bathroom.  
  
When he finally emerged, nearly twenty minutes later, Douglas was already in the room.  
  
The older man was staring at Martin's soiled bed, gaping. He gestured over the sheets, too stunned to properly ask.  
  
Martin could only shrug. "The bed sprung a leak."  



End file.
